Gecko-Man

IV. The Beast Below

TrewCorp HQ was a strange building.
It looked as if a pizza slice had grown to eight hundred feet, cut down the middle and the two halves stuck into the ground next to each other, one slightly lower down than the other.
There was a bridge about three quarters of the way up, spanning the gap between the two triangles. Just underneath that bridge, a long horizontal chunk had been chopped out of each half, so along with the gap running up the middle, it looked as if a giant letter T had been hole-punched through the pizza slice.
Orem looked up at it, noticing how it dwarfed the smaller buildings that spread out around it.
He wasn't really in the mood to walk around a weird building for God knows how long, but in all honesty, he was curious. Plus, he had got up at eight in the morning, so there was really no going back.
He looked up once more, at the sun this time, its rays trailing across the building's windows as if it had leapt from the roof and shot off across the sky.
Then one of the glass double doors of the skyscraper silently swung opened, and a young man poked his head out.
"Hi, um, excuse me... Hey, are you here for the tour thing? Because it's about to start, so..."
"Oh, yeah, yeah I am," Orem replied. He adjusted his backpack so the straps didn't press against his acne and walked off the street, the young man holding one of the doors open for him.
Cool air blasted from above as soon he stepped through the threshold, and he drank in the building.
The ground floor was a forest of sharp angles. Everything was white, and the walls fell away when you least expected it and shot out again. It was all very clinical and hospital-like, yet organic at the same time. The higher the walls grew, the less sharp they were and the more curved they became. Four crescent-shaped desks guarded each corner of the floor, some surprisingly far away from the entrance and others much closer. Lining the smooth yet uneven walls were potted plants in alabaster pots, crystal water features and every few metres square and rectangular holes, protected by airtight glass and occupied by any object one could think of; from shoes to knives, and shrapnel to jewels.
But the staircase was the real masterpiece.
Two marble spirals grew from the floor, twisting around each other. While one staircase wound up to the ceiling its twin did the same, always two metres above the other. Walkways connected each spiral at regular intervals, completing its double-helix look. Although it was designed to look like a strand of DNA, Orem found it infinitely more elegant. The two cases disappeared into the ceiling, but Orem imagined it carried on through the next level, and the next. He wondered if this was what it looked like on the other side of the building, in the bigger triangle. Probably not. Something like this was one of a kind.
Orem glanced at the young man, who was staring at a lumpy thing on a small jagged pedestal. Orem walked over.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I don't know, I think it's metal."
"It looks like metal," Orem said, and smelled it.
"It smells like metal."
Orem hesitated, then licked it.
"Hmm. It tastes like metal."
"That's because it is metal."
Orem and the young man turned to see an irritated looking woman with shoulder length brown hair standing behind them. Her hands were on her hips.
"In fact, it's a type of iron alloy excavated from the impact zone of one of the most intact meteorites in modern history. It's one of the biggest meteorite samples we know of and there have been no other documented findings of that alloy anywhere else, on Earth or otherwise. It's one of a kind."
"Oh," Orem said, "Sorry for licking your space metal."
The woman's eyes shifted to her clipboard.
"Orem Stalé, isn't it? And... Oliver Cummings."
I glanced at the man, Oliver. Up close I noticed he had a stream of freckles across his cheeks, sandy hair and a long, straight nose. What did people call it? Roman. He had a Roman nose.
"Come with me," the woman continued, "The tour's about to start."
Orem and Oliver followed her to the centre of the floor, where a small pedestal was set up. Once she called everyone else over so that a group of five stood around the pedestal, she stepped up to it and addressed them all.
"Good morning everyone," she said, "My name is Eva Goodall, Mr Trewin's personal assistant and your tour guide today. Can I ask everyone to hold up their passes?"
There was a rustle of movement as the group pulled their passes from their pockets and bags, and lifted them up so Goodall could see.
"Good. Now, today we'll be going around the building, learning how running a city is done, and finding out a bit about the objects you see around the room and throughout the rest of the facility. But first, a few words from the CEO himself, Mr Joseph Trewin.
Goodall stepped to the side and a tall man glided up to the podium from behind.
He had surprisingly good posture for a sixty-something year old man, and even without the raised pedestal he seemed to just be able to loom. He wore a tight fitting business suit, a black jacket with white shirt and black tie. On his chiseled, tight skinned face there was a grin, showing off perfectly white teeth. Despite his blonde eyebrows his hair was a shocking slate grey, pulled back from his head and matching in colour exactly to the grey surgical gloves on his hands. Of course, Orem had seen him on the news from time to time and on Trewcorp leaflets that were handed out outside of Morrison's. This was the Big Cheese.
This was Mr Trewin.
"Welcome, all of you. You're probably wondering why I personally asked you here today. Not any other of the other fourteen million civilians in the city, but you. Obviously not just for a free tour and lunch." He chuckled to himself.
"No, as I said in the letter, I invited you all today because I would sincerely like it if you would consider a job here, at Trewcorp headquarters. You see, I don't believe in waiting for the right people to come along. I believe, that if you truly want the right people, you have to go out there and find them yourself. So I did some research, and you five are exactly what I'm looking for; young, hardworking, smart and above all, willing. You are exactly the right people, and I have found you. Of course, it is entirely up to you, and if you do not wish to continue in learning about this opportunity, or you are already employed, you may leave now. No questions asked."
Nobody moved. Orem had a job, but it wasn't great, and what was the harm in looking for new opportunities? It never hurt to keep your options open. So he kept his mouth shut.
Trewin grinned again. "Excellent, excellent. Any questions? No? In that case, let us begin the -"
A girl with voluminous black hair waved her hand in the air.
"Yes, young lady?"
"Um, I don't want to poke my nose in something that's none of my business, but why do you have rubber gloves on?"
Trewin smiled. "Ah, my gloves, yes. You see, I have a rather rare skin condition that involves my having a severe sensitivity to certain bacteria, most of which live within human oils. So I try to have as little physical contact as possible with anyone."
Now then! The tour. Miss Goodall will take you round, show you the fascinating things we do here, and then you'll go to the dining hall for some lunch, of which, Miss Sparrow, there is a vegan option."
The girl with the black hair smiled.
"Thank you, Mr Trewin. Are you vegan, by any chance?"
Trewin chuckled to himself again.
"My dear, I had to earn food for myself during the Great Depression- the Margaret Thatcher years, that is. I had to eat anything I could get, and all of it too. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a city to run and tea to drink, so I shall leave you in the more than capable hands of Miss Goodall, and hope to see you all very soon." He winked, turned halfway round, then turned back again. "Oh, and one more thing: I hope you have all brought a water bottle, some of the corridors can get a bit steamy." Chuckling for a third time, Trewin stepped down from the pedestal and disappeared to sight.
"Alright, everyone," called Goodall, "let's begin."
Time dragged on a bit slower after that. Goodall showed them through the white, clean corridors, passing stunning artifacts and stuffed animals, huge rooms and huger rhinestones. Once Orem read a sign that directed vistors to various different zones in he building, including the Aero Room, the Chemical Facility and the Relic Chamber. They also past many strange objects that Goodall seemed to have learned a whole history on. There was what looked like a crystal ball, a huge white claw and even a pair of ancient golden sunglasses. But Orem's favourite was an ornate black Japanese sword, a katana, which was about seven hundred years old.
"This particular blade was originally forged sometime in the fourteenth century, and legend has it that it was to be used by the last hikari no kyōdai, meaning brother of light, to destroy an ancient fire demon called Bakuhatsu Suru, who terrorised this world for three hundred years. With the help of a phoenix, the three brothers of light fought the demon and cut of a chunk of pure darkness on the beast's back, which was what made it immortal. Although the three brothers were also immortal, -known as the eternal shape-shifters- they could be slain in battle, and two of the brothers died that day. But the brother who survived took the chunk of darkness to a temple in Tibet, and from it the temple kajiya forged a three-tined sai, called the Dakūburēdu, the Dark Blade.
"The demon vanished for three hundred years, but reappeared in the seventeenth century here in England, and apparently caused the Great Fire of London. The third brother tracked the demon down to a place not far from here and, with the help of the Dark Blade and a stranger, killed the beast for good, and also pushed a mountain on top of it for good measure. The stranger then took the blade and went to the Tibetan temple, which was still up and running, and had the blade melted down and reforged into the katana in front of you. Its history then gets a bit hazy, but it eventually ended up here, donated by an anonymous sender."
"So what happened to the demon?" Orem asked.
"Apparently the demon is still alive underneath the destroyed mountain, directly below Otterham History Museum, which is where the only earthquake ever recorded in Britain took place, in 1855. Many believe that the earthquake was the demon trying to free itself from the rock. There's a book all about it, called the Murderer's Diary, written in 1679 by the stranger who allegedly helped to kill the demon."
The group walked on, Orem trailing behind. Then he stopped. Listened. Listened again. Nothing. It must've been his imagination. He jogged to catch up with the others, but there it was again. A moaning, wailing sound, like a whale crying. It was definitely there; in fact, it was getting louder.
"Can you hear that?" Orem asked Oliver.
"Hear what?"
"That. That right there."
"I can't here anything."
"Listen- There! There is it again."
"That's you talking."
"No, the wail-"
"Quiet at the back please," Goodall called from the front, and Orem shut up. But he could still hear the wailing.
"I need the toilet," he whispered to Oliver, and turned around. Oliver opened his mouth to protest but Orem was already round the corner. He hunkered down and put his ear to the ventilation shaft low down on the wall and sure enough, the drawn out moaning came through clearer than ever. Orem crawled across the floor, from ventilation shaft to ventilation shaft, navigating his way to the source of the sound. He shuffled over to yet another shaft, and rested the side of his head on the grill. Nothing. He was about to retrace his steps when the wailing erupted from the opening, much louder than any time before. Orem crawled with confidence around the corner, and saw the door.
At the end of the corridor was a huge wall of metal, about two square metres. The builder of this door seemed to have gone the whole nine yards; there were rivets and bolts, great titanium hinges and even a huge metal wheel in the middle, just like in the movies. Orem pressed his ear to the cold edifice and could faintly hear the wailing through the foot of metal. He tried the wheel but it didn't budge. Hm. Just for decoration then. Then he noticed a slot on what little wall there was next to the door. He felt the all-access card in his pocket. Worth a try. Not really expecting it to work, Orem took his card from his pocket and slid it down the slot. To his amazement, no alarms sounded, no one came running and the small green light next to the slot beeped and flashed.
The door hissed and started to swing slowly open. It had its own sound effects too. Cool.
The door opened completely, revealing a dark stone passage leading down. Orem stepped through and started down the steps. The door closed behind him, but as soon as it boomed shut blue crystals growing from the walls started to glow. Orem reached the end of the staircase and followed the lights through the tunnel and into a huge cavern beyond. More blue crystals, clumped together like thick veins of fungi spread across the rock, pulsing and glowing with a calming aqua shade. Two large tanks sat on either side of the cavern, with several smaller metal barrels clustered around them. From these tanks protruded two tubes, which stretched across the cavern to the centre, where a thing knelt.
And what a thing it was.
It was humanoid, with dark blue, sweaty skin. The two tubes were attatched to its wrists and kept it upright, along with a dozen smaller tubes stretching from its back to the small metal barrels. Chains clamped over its bony ankles kept the thing firmly where is was. It wore a large helmet over its head, like one from a futuristic spacesuit, and through the water that sloshed inside the helmet Orem could make out the grey and freckled blue face of the creature, with large, inky black eyes.
Orem stepped forward cautiously and crouched in front of the thing.
"What are you?" He whispered. The creature looked up and made the moaning, wailing noise that Orem had heard; it echoed through the chamber and seeped into the various ventilation shafts on the walls high above. "What do you want?" Orem asked softly, "Do you want to get this helmet off?"
The creature's eyes widened and Orem thought it either really wanted the helmet off, or really didn't. He placed his hands on either side of the helmet and, thinking he really shouldn't do this, did it.
As soon as he wrenched the helmet off the creature, water spilled everywhere. The thing unfurled the wing-like fins on either side of its head, opened its mandibles and screamed.
The sound pierced the air and threatened to burst Orem's eardrums. He grabbed the helmet again and shoved it firmly back on the thing's head, and although water began refilling the helmet immediately, the creature's muffled shrieking continued. Maybe it didn't want the helmet off after all. Orem turned and bolted back to the tunnel and up the stairs. He slid his card through the second slot on the cave's side of the door and pushed it open, then turned and pushed it back closed once more. It shut with a booming clang, and silenced the creature's horrific screams along with it.